


(you know i'm) no good

by potterheading



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol, Anger, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Harry Potter, Crying, Eventual Happy Ending, Ginny Weasley Bashing, Heartbreak, I promise, Infidelity, Kinda, Love Confessions, M/M, Mild Smut, Past Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Swearing, Tears, draco lives in a cottage, just get through all the crying first, lowercase intentional haha, my dream home tbh, not between drarry, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-19 06:07:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29995020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/potterheading/pseuds/potterheading
Summary: he fucking hates harry potter. but draco hates himself more.because he doesn’t hate potter. not at all. he loves him - so much so that he thinks his heart will swell and crush his lungs and suffocate him to death. now, even that would be preferable - a victim of love and passion, rather than heartbreak and lies.-in which draco is the other woman.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley
Comments: 12
Kudos: 84





	(you know i'm) no good

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lavendifys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavendifys/gifts).



> thanks for clicking! 
> 
> long time no see! 
> 
> title is from "you know i'm no good" by any winehouse, an absolute banger
> 
> this fic is dedicated to esme, who pushed me to actually write this :,) much of the plot, dialogue, and interactions come from her, so thank you so very much dear <3 
> 
> anyways, as per usual 
> 
> all kudos, comments, bookmarks, etc, are highly appreciated. 
> 
> happy reading!

draco’s not sure how or when he became a part of the group. it had started with granger inviting him out for a drink one evening - an olive branch that had quickly blossomed into a beautiful friendship. and then he was tagging along for pub nights - squished in between longbottom and lovegood like it was a completely normal thing to do. 

pansy had been the first of the slytherin's to heed his complaints of being the only snake in the group, and had eventually begun attending pub nights. and then blaise had followed, and theo and goyle - and suddenly it was a full-fledged hogwarts reunion, every single friday.

he’s also not sure of how this thing started with potter. 

at first, they had ignored each other's presence. it had been fairly easy - with people like luna and lavender and seamus at the table, forgetting potter’s existence was a simple task. and then potter had begun talking directly to him - making stupid jokes and daring draco to try whatever disgusting drink he could convince the barkeep to throw together. they became tentative friends - smiling and laughing together and doing their very best to not think about the fact that they had almost killed each other a handful of times. 

nobody talked about the war, or death, or anything unpleasant. in fact, these things seemed to cease to exist on friday evenings, when they drank themselves under the table and leaned into each other’s personal space in the name of camaraderie. 

the first time that potter kissed him, draco had quickly thrown up all over his shoes. he had been three or four sheets to the wind - after stupidly accepting a dare from longbottom to match finnegan shot for shot. he had stumbled to the bathroom and took a piss, and then bumped into potter on the way out. he had only glanced at potter for a second before he had lunged forward, assaulting draco with a deliciously sloppy kiss. it had lasted for a few moments, before draco pulled away and proceeded to empty the contents of his stomach onto the floor in front of potter's feet. 

“that bad, am i?” 

“not at all,” draco had muttered. and then he had cast a cleaning charm over his mouth and potter’s shoes and leaned in to kiss him again. 

and thus their affair began - groping and grabbing and snogging each other in the seedy bathrooms of the joints they frequented. potter always sought draco out, a familiar glint in his eye that meant that draco had better cast a breath freshening charm because 1) they had both had quite a few drinks, and because 2) potter was about to shove his tongue down draco’s throat, and bad breath was unhygienic and rude. 

the first time they fucked, potter had shown up to his house in the middle of the night, his eyes shining familiarly and his grin wicked. draco had hardly opened the door before potter was pushing in, his fingers fumbling for draco’s waist and his lips hungrily devouring draco’s own. 

“been thinking about you,” potter murmured into draco’s neck, his fingers tearing at draco’s clothes. “want you to fuck me so bad,” 

and draco had. repeatedly. 

that first time, draco had bent harry over the back of the couch and ravished him there - so suddenly desperate for him that he couldn’t be bothered to take potter upstairs, to his bedroom. when they had finally made it to the bedroom, they had fucked for what felt like hours, each orgasm somehow better than the last. finally, they had collapsed beside each other, just barely touching, and breathing heavily. once potter had caught his breath, he had stood from the bed and shot draco a grin before going into the bathroom and taking a shower in draco’s en-suite. draco had layed in bed, slightly dazed and wondering if he had perhaps hallucinated the entire thing, a relic of his hogwarts fantasies playing out years later for some unknown reason. 

and then potter had appeared again, with his hair wild and damp and looking practically edible, and he had leaned over draco and pressed their lips together, his hand coming to rest on draco’s cheek. 

“g'night, draco,” harry had murmured, and then had disappeared through draco’s floo. 

they fell into this routine fairly easily, talking and kissing and fucking incessantly, each time better than the last. they even developed a tentative public friendship - sitting beside each other on pub nights and grabbing coffee together a few times. 

when harry and ginny began seeing each other again, draco was, appropriately, put out. 

“no,” he had muttered, pushing harry away from him as they stood in the dark of the pub. “i will not be your mistress.” 

weasley had made a toast that night to harry for finally ‘coming to his senses and getting back with ginny’ and everyone had drunk and danced and been generally merry, and draco had swallowed the lump in his throat and smiled along with everyone else. 

“you’re not my bloody mistress,” harry had slurred, his hands still fumbling with draco’s coat. “ginny and i are keeping it casual.” 

he had said it so easily, and his fingers had been so tempting - pulling at draco’s clothes. his mouth had been so warm, all over draco’s throat and jaw. so he had pushed the idea aside, comforted by the idea that ginny weasley was also out and about, flirting and hooking up with strangers. they didn’t talk much about her after that - she didn’t often attend pub nights, and when she did she and harry acted deceptively casual. they didn’t kiss, or touch, or even really talk to each other very much. 

this made it easy - easy to tumble into bed with potter, to kiss and stroke him, to take him again and again and again. to spend long nights with him, and tell him secrets and fall asleep in his arms and to pretend like they were anything more than reformed arch-enemies, playing house and ignoring the past. 

the night that everything falls apart starts like any other - except today, ginny weasley is on harry's arm. draco takes a seat across from potter instead of beside him, nursing a pint and talking absently to pansy about his week. harry doesn’t catch his eye, like he normally does, to cock his eyebrow and smirk or run his tongue over his bottom lip - his way of saying yes i remember last week, no you didn’t hallucinate it, yes i can’t wait to do it again. 

instead, harry is surprisingly affectionate with ginny today, brushing her hair away from her face and staring at her all night, even when she’s not looking back at him. they hold hands and she leans into his chest - they share a drink and even order a basket of chips that they pick at and feed each other. the entire thing is disgustingly performative and heterosexual, and it makes draco feel sick to his stomach. 

and so he distracts himself - throwing himself into his glasses and conversing with anyone at the table that he can, anyone that’s not potter or the she-weasel. 

after more than a few drinks and some time spent leaning heavily into lovegood, listening to her blather on about a theory that each of the founders of hogwarts were secretly animagi, potter and ginevra stand up, grinning stupidly and clutching each other. 

“everyone, we have an announcement,'' potter says, catching everyone’s attention, and draco's stomach turns. somehow, he already knows what's coming, and he knows that hearing it will kill him. “ginny and i -”

  
draco grabs his drink and tips it back, downing it and allowing the roar in his ears and throat to drown out potter’s announcement - his proud proclalamtion of this stupid fucking decision. around draco, the table bursts into applause, loud cheering and toasting and hugging and kissing all around. ginny takes the opportunity to flash her ring now, the one she had somehow managed to hide inconspicuously thus far into the evening. 

as everyone fawns over weasley’s ring and titters over possible details for potter and she-weasel’s impending nuptials, draco gets steadily sloshed, until his usual precaution melts away and he finds himself murmuring into theodore nott’s ear, one hand on his shoulder and the other stroking lightly at his neck. 

draco doesn’t feel any specific way about nott - he can see that he’s attractive, but also that the man seems to be hopelessly in love with longbottom. however, draco cannot seem to bring himself to be concerned with the entanglements of other gryffindors and slytherins, seeing as his own is currently crashing and burning before his very eyes. draco laughs softly as theodore makes a snipe about pansy’s smudged makeup, closing his eyes and inhaling his scent deeply. 

theodore surely isn’t ugly - with his sharp jaw and brown hair and pale green eyes, he even somewhat favors - 

for the first time all night, potter makes eye contact with draco - and has the audacity to look offended that draco is entertaining himself with someone else. 

as if he isn’t getting fucking married. 

“maybe slow down with the drinks, malfoy,” harry says offhandedly, glancing over at draco while mid conversation with ron and neville. 

draco turns to harry slowly, his face hardening as his pleasant tipsy haze fades rapidly. 

“don’t tell me what to do, potter,” draco spits, taking a slow sip from his glass. he doesn’t have the patience or the proper attitude to deal with potter’s misplaced sense of moral superiority, especially not tonight. 

“it's just a suggestion,” harry mutters, rolling his eyes. “you’re acting like a prick.”

“i’m acting like a prick?” draco asks incredulously. he turns back to their friends, who are all in various stages of sobriety. “finnegan is dancing on the bloody table, but i’m acting like a prick?” 

“look, malfoy. i don’t want anything with you. i just made a suggestion.” 

and draco sees red. potter’s words hit him like a ton of bricks, immediately sobering him up and sending him back in time, back to hogwarts. he wants to reach out, to wrap his fingers around potter’s throat and squeeze. he hasn’t felt this angry in years - the sort of anger that makes him want to burn down the world around him. 

“you don’t want anything with me?” draco says softly, gently placing down his glass. 

all eyes are on them, and all conversation has quieted significantly. there hasn’t been a malfoy-potter showdown in years, but one is very obviously brewing in this pub tonight. their friends pay rapt attention - looking between harry and draco as if observing a tennis match. 

“leave it, malfoy.” harry says lowly - he’s realized his misgiving. his eyes are hard, and angry as he glares at draco as if he already knows what draco will say or do. he looks threatening, and draco’s entirely up to the challenge. 

“you don’t want anything with me,” draco laughs cruelly, squeezing his fingers into tight fists. 

“draco,” pansy says softly from beside him. her sharp nails dig into his thigh beneath the table. she’s the only one at this table who knows everything - who is fully aware of the fact that she is about to watch something terrible happen. draco pushes her hand away and shifts in his seat, angling his body towards potter. he crosses his ankles and sits up straight, knowing that he looks completely and totally punchable right now. 

“malfoy,” harry says, rough and cruel. he's glaring at draco now, as if they’re back at hogwarts and ready to kill each other. 

“it’s funny you would say that, potter.” draco says lowly, his lips curling into an evil smile. “because you always seem to want something with me.” 

there’s a long silence - during which potter clenches his jaw and looks murderous, and all of their friends look confused. draco drinks in his anger, relishing in it and allowing it to delight him. it's simple, slipping into this hogwarts-esque mentality - the one that thrives on any attention from potter, whether it be positive or negative. he revels in his ability to rile potter up, to get him angry and out of control. even after all this time, there’s no one who can get harry as angry as draco. 

“what are you on about, malfoy?” ginny snaps, effectively joining the conversation. she looks irritated with draco’s antics - no doubt annoyed at not being able to understand what’s going on. she had been less than enthusiastic about accepting draco’s presence in the fold, but draco hadn’t cared. they never spoke. not until tonight, at least. 

“potter says that he doesn’t want anything with me.” he says softly, looking directly at her. he watches as confusion passes over her face, and he bites back a smile. “except, he does. he always does. he's a liar.” 

“what?” she turns to harry, her eyebrows furrowed. it’s obvious that she thinks draco is being purposefully difficult. she wants to return to the fun - to continue celebrating her engagement and drinking and dancing with her friends. she wants to continue ignoring the fact that draco exists - but he’s going to deny her that pleasure. the idea makes him practically giddy. “what the hell is he talking about?”

harry doesn’t look at ginny. he stares directly at draco, and if looks could kill, draco would be dead. his jaw jumps and his hands curl and the vein in his neck pops out. he's angry - so angry that his magic is jumping and popping around him, making the air crackle with electricity. draco watches him, absently wishing that he had savored the last time they had fucked. he's never going to come back from this - that much is true. he takes a sip from his drink, partly for confidence and partly for dramatic effect. 

“potter wants it all with me,” draco says softly. “starting with my cock.” 

the silence that passes over the table at that moment is so pervasive, it’s as if someone cast a silencing charm. nobody dares to move, or speak, or breathe. draco keeps consistent eye contact with harry, matching his glare. draco knows how he looks, his cheeks pink and his eyes gleaming silver. he doesn’t know what potter’s thinking, but he hopes that it’s about draco - about the way potter had kissed him just last week, the way his lips had skated over draco’s neck, his fingers grappling at the buttons of draco’s blouse. the way he had moaned, desperately, so very eager for draco to give him everything - 

“oi, what are you talking about, malfoy?” seamus says loudly, obviously misjudging the severity of the situation. beside him, dean nudges him discreetly, shaking his head. 

“you heard me,” draco says, turning to fix seamus with a steady look. he smiles politely, tilting his head a bit. “potter put a ring on she-weasley’s finger, but he was just grabbing his ankles for me the other night… congratulations on your engagement though, really.” 

“you’re lying,” ginny says, her voice sounding all terrible and forced. draco turns back to face her - her face is contorted with anger and frustration, and her face is all red, like a cherry. her skin clashes horribly with her hair, and draco bites down the urge to laugh. “fuck you, malfoy.” 

“am i?” he asks, cocking an eyebrow. he turns back to harry, who still hasn’t moved. “go on, potter. tell her that i'm lying. tell her i’m a liar.” 

harry doesn’t move. doesn’t speak. doesn’t even acknowledge the conversation happening around him. he simply sits there, staring at draco, hating everything about him. 

“harry,” ginny says firmly, one hand on his shoulder. she shakes him. “harry.” 

he doesn’t answer. 

ginny stands from the table, her chair scraping loudly against the floor. she glares down at both of them, her lip quivering minutely. she’s about to cry, that much is obvious - but seems to not want to give them the satisfaction of knowing that they’ve upset her. draco takes it anyways. when she reaches across the table and slaps him, he’s half expecting it. he doesn’t flinch, simply stares up at her with a blank expression. he looks stupid, he knows, with the bright pink handprint that must be on the side of his face. but, his pride trumps all. draco reaches forward and grabs a full shot from the table, knocking it back and settling into his seat, looking every inch the cocky bastard they all think he is. 

the entire table watches him with rapt attention, their faces frozen with shock or disgust. 

“oh, don’t tell me you didn’t all know,” draco says, looking around at each of them. “you heard it here first, i suppose. the savior, boy wonder himself, is bent. gets on his knees quite a bit too. that one was a bit of a surprise for me, i have to say. when potter propositioned me, i expected to be manhandled and pampered… imagine my shock when potter wants me to bend him over and -” 

“enough, malfoy!” granger slams a hand on the table, her voice trembling. for the first time all night (these gryffindors are horrendously predictable), draco is somewhat surprised. hermione had been the first to insist that they all call each other by their first names, for the sake of inter-house unity or post-war cooperation or some other progressive bullshit. her eyes are damp and disbelieving, and draco doesn’t understand why. it’s not as if it’s her relationship that’s just imploded - evidenced by the shiny rock on her ring finger. the first thing weasley had done after receiving his cash prize and order of merlin was use half of it to buy granger an impressive ring. “harry,” she continues, pleading. “tell me he’s lying. tell me you didn’t.” 

as with ginny, harry doesn’t respond. he does however, look down at his lap, his fingers curling and uncurling menacingly. hermione gasps wetly and stands as well, her chair dragging equally loudly against the floor. she hurries away, her head down and her steps quick. ron follows her, but not before shooting harry, a truly murderous glare. 

for a moment, draco actually feels guilty. weasley will likely never speak to potter again - he’s broken his sister's heart and violated the unspoken gryffindor code of conduct, all in one night. worse still, it was a slytherin - no, it was draco that he chose to fuck around with. if it had been neville longbottom, or one of the patil twins, ron might’ve punched harry and ignored him for a few days, before all would be well again. 

the rest of their friends disappear in similar fashions, making whispered excuses about why they suddenly need to be anywhere but this table right now. draco doesn’t pay much attention to them - instead, focusing on finishing as many drinks as he can. his options are essentially limitless - they had ordered a new round just a few moments before draco had decided to ruin everyone’s night. as he drinks, potter stares at him. there’s no emotion on his face - not anger, or hurt, or frustration. he's blank, annoyingly so, and shows no awareness of the fact that his fiance and best friends have just both walked away from him, metaphorically and physically. 

he finishes off pansy’s gin and grabs for another drink, raising it to his lips when he’s very rudely interrupted. 

“stop it, malfoy.” harry snaps, snatching the glass from his hands and slamming it down. the drink had been luna’s before being abandoned - the sparkly blue liquid sloshed over the sides and spilled across the tabletop. “just fucking stop it.”

“i thought i told you not to tell me what to do,” draco sneers. his lip curls, and harry looks away. he knows he looks every inch the malfoy scion that had haunted the halls of hogwarts years ago. “fuck you, potter.” a dry laugh forces its way from draco, humorless and painful. “fuck you so much,” he says in an undertone, watching potter. “finally been taken down a fucking peg, have you? now you’ll have to slum it like the rest of us.” 

harry doesn’t respond. instead, he stands and turns away from the table, walking away without a second glance at draco. distantly aware that he had just been left with the task of footing the bill for all of the abandoned drinks. draco fished out a few coins and dropped them onto the table before standing and stumbling after potter. 

he doesn’t start yelling until he’s outside - the cold air making his eyes water and his lungs burn. 

“fuck you,” he screams at potter’s retreating back. harry ignores him, walking steadily down the street. he lives in the opposite direction, draco knows. “fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!” he repeats, almost like a mantra. he stumbles and trips and nearly falls a handful of times, clumsily making his way towards harry. and then he’s on him - pushing and shoving at his back, still screaming at the top of his lungs. 

“fuck you,” he chokes, his eyes watering more now. inexplicably, tears threaten to escape, and he forces them back. “fuck you.”

“stop,” harry says forcefully, whirling around. he grabs draco's wrists, restraining him. “stop this, malfoy.” 

draco struggles, his movements sloppy and uncoordinated from his alcohol and grief. he uses his entire body to shove against potter, fighting his iron-like grip and screaming all the while. he’s not sure when he starts crying - when his screams turn to sobs and when he stops struggling. but he does. and suddenly, he’s standing in the middle of the street with harry potter, sobbing into his chest and being held by the wrist. 

“fuck you,” draco whimpers, looking up at harry through blurred eyes. “i hate you so much. so so much.” 

and then he’s sobbing loudly and freely, hanging his head in shame. he leans into potter, burying his face in his hands and allowing his anger to melt away. the utter grief, the sadness that had been edging just below the surface spills over falling over draco in one long, terrible moment. 

potter wraps his arms around draco’s body. for a second, draco thinks that he’s hugging him - that potter is attempting to comfort him. instead, potter turns on his heel and disapparates, tugging draco along with him. 

draco looks up when they land, partly surprised to see that they’ve landed in front of his home. potter waves a hand, unlocking the front door and hustling draco inside. 

he’s angry, so angry with himself and with harry. he shouldn’t be able to get through the wards - shouldn’t know how to unlock draco’s door. these are small, intimate gestures, reserved only for those closest to an individual. a wizards’ home is practically an extension of themselves - it’s the place where a person is most vulnerable. giving someone uninhibited access to your home is on par with a serious relationship, or marriage in pureblood culture. 

and potter is able to get through the bloody wards with a simple flick of his wrist. 

“fuck you,” draco shouts, sinking to the floor in front of his doorway. he knows that he looks like a child throwing a tantrum, but finds that he doesn’t care very much. “you’re a liar. you lied.” 

he wants potter to leave - to fuck off and allow him to feel all of this terrible anguish so that he can move on with his life and try to put himself back together. he wants potter to feel pain - to experience exactly what it is that he’s doing to draco. he wants him to die. because he hates harry potter. he regrets ever meeting him, ever saying a word to him, ever starting to actually like him, ever fucking him, and ever handing over his heart for potter to keep safe. 

he fucking hates harry potter. but draco hates himself more. 

because he doesn’t hate potter. not at all. he loves him - so much so that he thinks his heart will swell and crush his lungs and suffocate him to death. now, even that would be preferable - a victim of love and passion, rather than heartbreak and lies. 

“malfoy,” harry says softly. he doesn’t sound angry. he sounds sad, exhausted. everything that draco feels. yet, somehow, it isn’t bringing him to his knees. he's still able to hold draco upright while his entire world falls in around him. 

“don’t - don’t fucking call me that, stop calling me that,” draco sobs, his chest wracking with each breath. he feels as if he’ll be sick with the force of his anguish, as if he’ll hyperventilate and pass out, or die. “you always call me draco. i’m draco.” 

harry sits on the floor beside draco, wrapping his arms around him and pulling him into his chest. draco’s surprised - but too wrapped up in his own grief to consider this much. instead, he continues to cry into harry's chest - loud, terrible noises that rip from his throat violently. as he cries, he pushes and punches at harry, actively fighting him but unwilling to let him go. harry remains strong, holding draco close and rubbing his back, as if draco hasn’t just destroyed nearly everything he holds dear. as if there’s anything else for him to go back to in the real world. no - instead, he holds him closer - as if they’re the only people left in the world. 

“you said… you said you loved me,” draco cries, faintly aware of how pathetic he sounds but not caring very much. “you just said it. you love me, but you choose her - you’re marrying her…you didn’t even tell me. you didn’t say anything! you just showed up with her and that fucking ring!” he moves back now, still close but able to truly look into harry’s eyes. he manages to calm his sobs for a moment, sniffling furiously but mostly intact. “why would you do that? how could you do this to me?” 

last week, after potter had finally come following nearly an hour of consistent fucking, he had buried his face in draco’s shoulder, still trembling and gasping for air, and muttered a soft ‘i love you’. draco had discounted it as momentary insanity caused by the force of his orgasm, until potter had caught his breath and rolled over, grinning stupidly and pressing kisses to draco’s jaw and shoulder. i love you, draco, he had said again, and draco had frozen. his heart had stopped and he had gone stock-still, staring down at harry, just mildly horrified. the following encounter had been awkward, full of harry muttering apologies and tripping over himself to get away from draco, while draco had sat, frozen, and not saying anything in return. harry had disappeared through the door, his cheeks warm and his head ducked, while draco stared after him, mouth slightly ajar. 

and then he had shown up tonight, engaged. 

harry looks away, his own eyes flooding with tears. he blinks them away quickly, bringing a finger up to wipe at his nose. for a long time, he doesn’t look draco in the eyes. he stares at the wall behind him, at the ground, at draco’s shoulder - everywhere but his face. when he finally does make eye contact, the grief that passes between them is practically tangible, and then draco is leaning in, connecting his lips to harry's for what he knows will be their final kiss. 

“i’m sorry, draco.” harry whispers slowly, their foreheads pressed together. tears fall from his eyes now, slowly and steadily. “i’m sorry.” 

when draco wakes the next morning, his head pounds, his throat is raw, and his memory is hazy. he’s somehow in his bed, although he doesn’t remember ever making the trek from his front door to his room. he’s not wearing the tight trousers and silky top he had worn to the bar yesterday - instead, he’s dressed in soft flannel trousers and a worn sweater. he’s wearing socks, fuzzy ones with purple and orange spots. on his bedside table sits a glass of water and a vial of hangover potion. 

he sits up, swallowing down his nausea and ignoring the pounding in his head. his entire body hurts, but the pain in his chest trumps any headache or hangover. draco stares blankly ahead, unseeing. 

he doesn’t know how many drinks he had last night, or how many terribly embarrassing things he might’ve whispered on the floor of his foyer. 

what he does know is that last night, he ruined both his and harry's lives - and that there’s absolutely nothing he can do to fix it. 

  
_**two years later.** _

  
when harry potter shows up on his doorstep, draco does an impressive job of hiding his shock. 

he doesn’t slam the door in his face, or pass out, or even burst into tears, like he wants to. 

he simply stands there, slightly wide-eyed, staring at harry. 

his hair is longer now, tied back in a messy bun that is much more attractive than it should be. his shoulders are broader, and he looks a bit taller, somehow. he looks fit, and happy, and draco hates him for it. 

“can we talk?” he says, his voice even and calm and smooth and just as draco remembers it. 

stupidly, draco steps aside and allows potter to come in. harry looks around, taking in the decor of draco's small cottage with a small smile on his face. draco watches him take it all in, prepared to kick him out or hex him if he dares to make a comment on the decor. 

he had dedicated the last year and a half to making sure his home was something he could be proud of and comfortable in - and he had lovingly filled very inch of it with objects and furniture that made him feel at ease. he loved the wide windows, and the stained wood furnitures, and the eclectic patterns he had picked by hand from small craft shops in muggle london. draco's cat, briseis, tended to shred anything at ankle-height and leave her toys everywhere, and there were abandoned mugs littering the coffee table and fireplace and almost every other horizontal surface. candles and incense sticks littered the shelves, and there was a distant tinkle of an unseen windchime. the place looked a bit zany - but it was home. 

the furthest thing he could get from the manor, more muggle than not, small, secluded, and grassy. but home, nonetheless. 

he leads potter into the kitchen, where they sit at his small table. there’s only room enough for two - he very rarely has more than one person over at a time, anyways. on rare occasions when he’s able to get all of the slytherins in one place, they tend to congregate in the small living room anyways. 

“nice place,” harry says, “it suits you.” still looking around. his eyes linger on the muggle appliances in the kitchen, and a small smile spreads across his lips. 

“tea?” draco asks, because he doesn’t know what else to say. even after all this time, his pureblood manners remained steadfast, pushing him to be the perfect host. even if it is to harry potter. 

“please,” harry says politely, smiling. “i take -” 

“i know,” draco says, before he can stop himself. he does know how potter likes his tea - with two sugars and two creams, practically still black. he remembers everything about potter, all of the small insignificant details he had picked up on after almost a decade of pretending not to care about or notice him. 

disappearing into his kitchen isn’t an option, seeing as he had opted for an open-plan cottage with a distinct lack of interior walls. potter watches him as he strides over to the kitchen area to fiddle with the kettle and tea leaves. the only saving grace is that draco keeps his back to potter, which allows him to take a few steadying breaths and blink away his shock. he doesn’t know what potter could possibly want from him - they hadn’t spoken or seen each other since that night. 

draco had distanced himself from the group, understanding that he wouldn’t be welcomed back after his stunt. the other slytherin’s had continued to go, and had updated draco on the awkwardness of it all. granger and both weasley’s had simply stopped showing up, as had lavender and hannah and the patil’s. longbottom and lovegood seemed to have avoiding taking sides, while thomas and finnegan seemed to be in support of potter, citing feeling sympathetic towards him for having to hide his apparent homosexuality. nobody spoke about draco, or ginny, or anything negative. draco's outburst and potter’s infidelity had, apparently, been grouped with the war and the hogwarts-era bullying under the category of things not to be spoken about at pub nights. things had been awkward at first, but a few rounds in had them all forgetting about what had occurred at other nights like those. 

when draco hands potter his tea, he takes it gratefully and immediately puts it to his mouth. he takes a long pull, his eyes closing and a soft moan escaping his lips. 

“this is great,” harry says softly, smiling stupidly at draco. “thank you.” 

it’s just tea. draco wants to snap. it’s just tea, and nothing more. now, why are you here?

instead, he sinks into his own seat, pushing his mug aside. his throat feels terribly tight, and the idea of drinking makes him feel a little nauseous. he wants it to be twenty minutes ago, when draco had been debating making himself a sandwich and going to sit in the garden and perhaps writing a letter to his aunt andromeda and teddy. he doesn’t want to be sitting across his kitchen table from potter, with his stomach fluttering and doing terrible, awful things that he doesn’t want to acknowledge. 

potter takes a few more sips, looking around at draco’s home and nodding pleasantly and tapping his foot. he looks at peace, and natural, and (although draco’s loathe to admit it) at home in draco’s small cottage, surrounding by all of his things. and then potter starts talking, and everything goes terribly wrong. 

he just starts talking, as if he had been holding it in for a long time and had been waiting until he was before draco to finally let go. he tells draco about losing granger and all of the weasley’s, about feeling hopeless and terribly alone, about volunteering at charities and guest lecturing at hogwarts whenever headmistress mcgonagall asks him to. 

he tells draco about spending long hours with teddy every week, about buying him his first broomstick and teaching him how to fly it. he tells draco about reuniting with his cousin and making an effort to have a relationship with him, and about beginning to see a mind healer to work through some of his “internal muckiness.” 

he tells draco about writing a lot of sincere letters and weathering a handful of hexes before being pulled in for a long hug and kiss on the cheek from ginny. he tells draco about coming out to ron and hermione, about hermione tearfully telling him that she loves him and accepts him, but hates what he did to ginny, and about ron telling harry that he doesn’t forgive him but that he does love him. he tells draco about crying to them for a long time, about falling asleep in their bed with them like a child, about them letting him because they know that he needs it. 

he tells draco about his first weasley family dinner since that night, about the forgiveness they’ve shown him, and about how he’s still not sure if he deserves it. 

draco stares out the window all the while, his tea growing cold before him. he listens avidly, although he won’t look at harry and let it show. privately, he loves this - loves hearing about harry’s life, about what he’s been doing over the last two years. before everything had fallen apart, they had often had conversations like these. after sex, they would lie in bed, still tangled together, and harry would talk. even if there was nothing to say, he would ramble on about his life, about who he had seen and what he had done in the time since he had seen draco last. he had never expected draco to respond - just to listen quietly until they drifted asleep, or until it was time for draco to disappear through the floo. 

when harry finally tapers off, he takes a sip from his mug and stares expectantly at draco, a delicate smile still playing on his lips. 

“harry,” draco whispers, his voice shaking only a bit. “what... why are you telling me all of this? why are you here?” 

“i missed you,” harry says softly, matter-of-factly, as if this is just a thing that he is allowed to say, after walking back into draco’s life after two years. “i've missed you so much, this entire time that you’ve been away. i wanted to reach out, just to see how you were doing… but nobody would tell me where you had gone. i've been trying to find you since last year. i finally got your address about a month ago... i've been working up the courage since then.” 

“oh.” draco says, stupidly. he opens his mouth to say more, but then quickly shuts it again when he realizes that he has no more coherent thoughts. 

“that night… you called me a liar.” harry continues, staring across the table at draco shamelessly. he examines draco carefully with his eyes, drinking in every part of him. it hits draco that this is probably the first time that harry can stare at him for as long as he likes without any guilt or possible judgement from anyone else. draco lets him look. “i never lied. not about anything draco. i couldn’t, not to you.” 

“just to everyone else,” draco says quickly, because a small part of him still _fucking hates harry potter_. even now, two years later. probably always, even when he’s dying and his last breath is leaking out of him like a balloon, he will still fucking hate harry potter for being able to do to him what nobody else can.

harry winces, but nods. “but not to you. never to you. everything was real, draco. i told you i loved you, and you didn’t say anything back, i panicked and -” 

“proposed to your girlfriend?” draco looks over at harry, unsure if he looks hurt or angry or sad or a strange mix of the three. “bloody hell, harry, you caught me off guard! i thought i was just your little secret… a stress reliever of sorts… and then you were there, telling me that you loved me, and i didn’t know how to react!” 

“i never claimed to be a person who makes good decisions,” harry says softly, flushing. his hand comes up, and he worries the back of his neck, and draco’s heart melts pathetically. “i want to hear it from you… to see if you felt what i did. when we were together, i always felt so alive - being with you was like… being set on fire. in the best possible way.” 

he looks up at draco with a wild grin, and draco looks away before his fondness spreads across his face and leaves him terribly exposed. 

“i messed up. i know i did.” harry’s voice is gentle and apologetic and draco wants to do something stupid like reach across the table and hold his hand. “i fucked up, and i lost you because i was too blind to realize what i was giving up, too much of a coward to try and go for what i really wanted.” 

draco taps a gentle rhythm against the rim of his mug, his eyes dampening. he curses himself silently. the last thing he wants to do is cry in front of harry again, to let him know just how much control he has over draco and his emotions. 

“i don’t expect anything from you.'' harry says, and this wraps around draco tight, and squeezes him. it’s so similar to what harry had said that night ‘i don’t want anything with you’, but then it had been laced with malice and practically cruel. now, draco resists the temptation to purr as harry speaks to him, his words soft and sweet as satin. now, harry wants with dracom this much is obvious. but he doesn’t demand it. draco has the power - the ability to break both of their hearts. “but my god, it was so real. every moment. it was never fake, i was never fake with you.”

“when i kissed you - it just felt… right, okay?. with ginny or anyone else, it always felt like just… something to do, you know? but you… merlin, draco you felt like coming home.” draco blinks, trying to pretend like he isn’t a few moments away from bursting into tears. “and you were always so beautiful, draco. so beautiful. you still are. beautiful.” 

draco looks up at him, probably embarrassingly pink and with wet eyes and quivering lips. harry stares back, his expression so painfully open. draco can read him like a book - whether it’s because potter is just that accessible, or because draco knows him inside and out, and better than anyone else. he thinks draco is beautiful - and draco is falling apart right now. 

“everything about you is just - addicting. i can't get enough, and it’s been killing me to stay away for the last two years. every single part of you - i want every part of you, every bump, every line, every scratch, every bone, every fucking thing, draco. you were mine, and i fucked up, but i can’t stop thinking about you being mine… only mine.” 

he’s talking in slightly confusing circles now, his hands fluttering through the air as he speaks rapidly. the metaphorical plug that had been stopping him up for however long had been pulled, and now harry was spilling out every part of him, right here at draco’s small kitchen table. 

“your bloody scars, even the ones that i made on your skin, they’re all so mesmerizing. i know you hate them, but merlin they're beautiful - they’re magnificent. i still remember the way they feel, remember every single curve and arch. and your eyes, christ draco, your eyes. i’ve missed your eyes. all i wanted, all this time, was for you to look at me. the last time you looked at me you hated me so much, and it killed me because i don’t want you to hate me,”

draco’s crying now, fast, hot tears that streak down his cheeks with a vengeance. he doesn’t bother reaching up to wipe them away, because harry is crying too, choking on sobs as he fumbles with words, spitting them out rapidly, as if he’ll forget them, or never get another chance to say them if he doesn’t do it right now. and who knows - maybe he won’t. 

“please don’t hate me, draco,” he whispers, shattering draco’s heart one more time, because why not. “i know you did…. do…but, please,” 

“harry,” draco murmurs, and then says nothing else. he hopes that harry understands, that he hears the unspoken ‘ _darling, i could never hate you. not really. not any more than i love you. and i do - love you so._ ’

because he does. even after two years, after heartbreak and isolation and despair and grieving someone who was still very much alive, simply out of reach - draco still loves him, and will probably continue to love him, no matter what harry says or does. 

“everyone thinks i'm so brave,” harry continues, his voice shaking terribly now. “i’m not. i'm a coward. everyone expected me to settle down after the war… marry ginny, have three kids and a krup, become an auror and spend the rest of my days doing what everyone told me to. and i was ready to do those things, just because it was what was expected of me. but i don’t want to do that - i don’t want any of it. i want you, draco. and i was afraid of it, so i ran away from it, and in the process i… i hurt you, which was the last thing i ever wanted to do.” 

“i was so angry with you, that night in the bar. but you were right - so right about everything. i didn’t even think about why you might’ve done what you did… i really hurt you, didn’t i?” 

draco looks up at harry, his heart pounding in his chest. “harry,” he chokes, his fingers curling against the smooth wood of the tabletop. “you destroyed me.” 

“draco,” he says, and then nothing more, because he dissolves completely into tears. he covers his face as he cries, resting his elbows on the table and completely losing control, sobbing loudly and uncontrollably. 

after a few moments, draco stands from the table, partly to give harry time to pull himself together, and partly because he knows that there’s something he must do. he finds the letter quickly, because it’s in the same place it’s been since he had first moved into this house. it’s still in its envelope, tucked away in the farthest corner of his sock drawer. he holds it against his chest for a moment before sighing and going back into the kitchen. his hand shakes as he places the letter before harry, knowing that he’s preparing to open a proverbial can of worms. 

he’s baring his soul to harry, and the idea of it terrifies him. 

“come and find me,” draco says softly, placing a tentative hand on harry's shaking shoulder. he looks up at him, with wide green eyes, and draco’s breath quickly evacuates his body. “when you’re done.” 

with that, he quickly turns on his heel and disappears through the double french doors, and into the garden. 

the garden is by far draco’s favorite place in his house - large, spacious, and bursting with life. the grass is soft and lush, and even now draco stands in it, barefoot and at peace. there are tear stains down his cheeks, but the sun warms his face and allows him to forget about his troubles for just a few moments. he walks around the garden slowly, staring blankly at his plants, his mind, and his heart, a few feet away, sitting at his kitchen table. this is how harry finds him, a few minutes later - barefoot and staring up at the sky. 

“did you mean that?” harry says softly, coming to stand beside draco. 

“which part?” draco doesn’t look at him, doesn’t trust himself to, so he simply continues staring upwards, nearly going blind. 

“all of it. the end… you…?”

“yes. i do.” 

“still? even after everything?” 

“yes,” draco says, finally mustering up the courage to look at harry. “i wrote that the morning after, once i had finally finished throwing up, of course.”

harry snorts, and draco smiles faintly. he hadn’t had more than a glass of wine since that night - afraid of what being under the influence might reveal of him. 

“i don’t really know why,” draco continues. “maybe as a reminder… or a wish. part of me always hoped you would come. that we could talk. that i could tell you -” 

“i know,” harry says quietly. “i know, draco.” 

and then draco’s crying again, soft, delicate tears that are far more happy in origin than their predecessors. harry wraps his arms around draco again, and he’s whispering i’m sorry, draco, i’m sorry, much like that night, so long ago. but this, this doesn’t feel like heartbreak - it feels like restoration, like the pieces of the puzzle are finally sliding into the right places. the memory of the pub night slowly begins to shrink, vanishing and being slowly replaced with this - the warm press of harry's body against his own, his lips on the crown of draco’s head.

”i felt like i would always belong to you,” draco whispers, leaning into harry. suddenly, he understands the way harry had rambled for so long back in the kitchen. now that harry is here, with him, he wants to tell him everything - wants to talk and talk and never stops talking, if it means keeping harry, keeping his attention. “i dreamed of the day you would walk in and tell me that this was one of my nightmares, and that i was still yours, and you were still mine… i hoped that you would wake me up from the nightmare, just like you did that time. that you would love me, actually love me - ” 

it’s corny, and dramatic, but true. there had been a night, early on in their trysts, during which they had fallen asleep after a few rounds. draco had had a nightmare - a terrible one that involved torturing his mother, and listening to her terrified screams over and over again. he had lurched awake, distraught and confused and breathing heavily. harry had reached over and pulled draco into his arms, whispering comforting sweet nothings and pressing soft kisses to his forehead. now, draco thinks that this is when he started to fall in love with harry - why he’s still so terribly in love with him. 

“i'm here,” harry murmurs, pulling away and pressing his forehead to draco’s. “i’m here, i’m real. i’m yours.” 

“all mine,” draco whispers, the humiliating words tumbling out before he can stop them. 

“forever,” harry returns - and then he leans forward and presses his lips to draco’s, like he means it.  
  
they stand in the garden for a long while - holding each other close and occasionally kissing but mostly standing in silence, leaning into each other. draco drinks in the novelty of the moment - belatedly realizing that he hasn’t felt this happy, or this at peace in ages. 

for so long, potter had been a source of irritance for draco - and now, here he was, calming the rocky sea that had been draco’s like since he had walked out of it two years ago. when the light begins to fade just a bit, they trip inside, giggling and touching each other gently, almost as if they’re both afraid to break the other. 

“later, bitch,” draco murmurs as he swats briseis away from his bed, pulling harry along after him. 

“you call your cat bitch?” harry laughs, watching as she strolls from the room leisurely, her tail flicking back and forth slowly. draco will have to ply her with treats later to apologize for this slight. 

“not important,” he breathes, pulling harry down onto the bed with him. they bounce a bit and roll, but draco keeps his arm around harry's waist, close to him. “kiss me,” 

harry does. 

and it’s everything he’s been dreaming of.

he wraps his arms around draco and pulls him close, and kisses him like it’s his sole purpose in life. his tongue presses into draco’s mouth, small whimpers escaping his lips every few moments. their bodies slot together like kismet, every one of draco's sharp edges fitting perfectly with harry’s deep canyons. draco feels like he’s dying, or taking his first breath of air. he can’t remember a time before this, before he did anything other than roll around on his duvet and snog potter. he doesn’t want to remember frankly - there’s nothing more important than this, than the press of their bodies together, than potter’s fingers and lips and knees and elbows everywhere, surrounding draco, pulling him in, finally, pulling him from the ledge that he had been balancing precariously on for so long. 

their clothes come off slowly, first, harry’s shirt, if only so that draco can feel the warmth of his skin - can reacquaint himself with the ever-burning inferno that seems to exist beneath potter’s skin. and then draco’s shirt, shucked off so that harry can rub gentle patterns into his back as they kiss, a heart, and a star, and spirals, and circles, but mostly hearts, over and over and over again. harry's pants go as draco kisses down his torso, desperate to mark, to touch every part of harry that he can - from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet. his own pants go not too long after that, although in a decidedly less sexy way - he stands to kick them off, shaking with nerves and want, and trips over the leg of his own pants. harry laughs - loud and warm, before sliding down the bed and helping draco to peel off his trousers, pressing gentle kisses to draco’s thin calves as he does. and then they’re naked, and draco can hardly breathe. 

it's been two years, but draco is still intimately familiar with every inch of potter's body. he traces each scar delicately with the pad of his fingers, following his trails with tender kisses all the while. under his ministrations, potter trembles and whimpers quietly, his fingers tangling in draco’s hair. it’s practically reverent, the way he reintroduces himself to potter’s body. beneath him, harry whispers quietly, again and again, “draco, draco, draco -”, his name sounding like the most beautiful of songs or poems in harry's mouth. he relishes in this - the way his name rolls off of harry’s tongue like silk, or honey. he’s missed this so very much - so much so that it almost hurts him. he had carefully rebuilt his life post-potter, burying himself in his studies and tending to his garden and keeping himself generally busy so that he wouldn’t have to examine the gaping hole in his life left by none other than harry potter. 

but now, harry is smiling up at draco as if he hung the moon and the stars with his bare hands, just for him. now, that void closes - and draco feels somewhat complete for the first time in a very long time. 

when he pushes into harry, they both hiss, long and loud. he freezes for a moment, waiting for harry to signal that he’s okay, that the pain has turned to pleasure. and then he does, a soft whimper and a finger brushing draco’s arm - and he’s off again. at some point, their fingers find each other, lacing together and staying that way, even in between and after rounds. 

they go again and again and again, making up for lost time and reintroducing themselves to each other, until it’s dark outside, and the idea of moving seems impossible. now, they move together, harry throwing an arm around draco and pulling him close. his eyes are heavy and he feels his body easing into unconsciousness, so he leans up and brushes his lips against harry’s harry, although awake, doesn’t make an effort to deepen the kiss, instead allowing their lips to brush each others delicately - and somehow, this is more intimate than anything they had done all night, even when inside and all around each other. 

draco falls asleep that night, tucked beneath harry potter's arm. he sleeps better than he has in years, soothed by the presence of harry - the constant warmth of his body. he sleeps with a small smile on his lips - unusual, but understandable. here, now, in his little cottage, so far removed from all he once knew and held dear - draco thinks that he has a real chance at happiness. 

in the large bed, wrapped up in each other and beneath a thick duvet, draco and harry sleep. in the bathroom, the faucet drips slowly and steadily - a malfunction draco had meant to fix at some point, until the droplets of water became calming and helped to lull him to sleep on the harder nights. in the living room, briseis curls up in a patch of moonlight, whiskers twitching and purring softly as she does. in the kitchen, on draco’s small wooden table, lays a letter written in blue ink and soft cursive - 

_dear ~~potter~~ harry, _

_you were the first person i ever hated - and it consumed me entirely. i spent every waking hour thinking about ways to beat you, ways to make you angry, things to say to provoke you to the point of fighting me._

_i wanted to touch you - to make you feel the anger i felt, a message delivered through fists. i still want to touch you, more than ever now._

_except, my hatred has turned into something new, something terribly unfamiliar. ~~i think i might be in love with you.~~ ~~i am in love with you.~~ _

_i love you._

_i would’ve told you that night, when you whispered it to me, but i don’t think i had realized yet. now, surrounded by the rubble of what was my life and looking back at what i've lost, one of the last good things i had, i know that i do._

_i love you, and will continue loving you until it kills me. even when you cut me open and try to kill me, curse me and break my heart into a million little pieces, over and over and over again, i will keep coming back._

_because it’s you, potter, it’ll always be you._

_i don’t know if i’ll ever see you again. i hope i will, because when i do i'll tell you that i love you. even if you don’t say it back, even if you still hate me, even if you kill me for it._

_this love is worth dying for. you are worth dying for._

_~~sincerely,~~ _

_~~yours~~ , _

_forever yours,_

_draco._

**Author's Note:**

> thanks so much for reading!!!!
> 
> i'd just like to say that i don't condone cheating, and that i personally believe that both harry and draco are somewhat wrong in this situation, especially in the first part. however, i wanted to play around a bit with this dynamic, and i'm mostly happy with how this turned out! 
> 
> i haven't been posting on ao3 as much as i used to which is :/, but i hope to get back to it soon. 
> 
> i'd like to give another thank you to esme for the plot and dialogue and support and everything!!! tysm dear <3 
> 
> i recently made a twitter and i'm on there all the time now, the @ is p0tterheading :-) i post a lot of drabbles and drarry related content a lot more frequently on there, if you're into that. mkay, that's it from me. bye!
> 
> all kudos, comments, bookmarks, etc are highly appreciated!


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